


Rising to a Challenge

by WillowPerpetua



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Erectile Dysfunction, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The serum changed a lot of things about Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising to a Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> posted as part of the MCU Flashfic meme, 52 fics in 52 weeks. This week's prompt was "Rising to a Challenge" and I could not resist the pun.

Bucky knew better than to push. Steve would come to him when the time was right. There had been enough close calls, near misses, awkward moments and strings of tense days which became miserable weeks of longing for them both to know what worked and what did not.

It was about sex. Sex was a delicate topic, though the last thing Bucky would ever call Steve was delicate. Even back then—before.

Now he had little time to think about it at all, except for the flashes of flesh that drifted through his mind without permission when Steve passed through his line of vision and his guard was down. Then, sometimes, Bucky wondered what was under that uniform. He wanted to find out what the doctor had done to his man, in the same way that he wanted to never again think about what the doctors had done to him.

Bucky was surprised, however, when Steve barged into his tent along with the shadows in the wee hours of the morning not three days after they returned and were declared fit for service. There was a look in Steve’s eye, illuminated by the lantern with which Bucky fumbled. He recognized Steve’s look from the odd day here and there back home, but never quite like this: never so urgent or so sudden.

“Now?” Bucky whispered. Steve sat down next to him, nearly above him, on the cot. He was warm, like a fire burned inside him. Bucky imagined that if he got too close he might ignite as well. Steve nodded and took Bucky’s hand. He dragged it down his abdomen, over the layers of fabric that separated skin from skin, and then across the hard plane of his belt and down where, there was no mistaking it, he found the reason for Steve’s sudden appearance in the middle of the night. “Oh.” Bucky whispered, mostly in surprise.

“Oh—“ Steve said, though his meaning was different.

“You’ve never been—“ But Bucky stalled, caught on his words—a _ble to get it up so fast? Hard like this?_ “…on top.” It was also true. Steve helped him to remove his pants and undressed himself quietly and efficiently.

“I know.” Steve said.

“Do you want to be?” Bucky asked. Steve looked him over with an apprising eye in the glow of the lantern, still mussed from sleep, with hunger and excitement displayed on every inch of him.

“Yes.”

Bucky reached up to Steve’s face with gentle hands to watch his expression as he pulled him down. He wanted to feel Steve, this new Steve, who was as much his as the man he left behind in Brooklyn. From the moment their lips touched, he was home.

It was not one moment before they found themselves lost to the frantic crush of touch and all the glorious ecstatic numbness that it brought with it. Gone was the cold and the damp and the nearness of their neighbors in the camp not yards away. There was only Steve and what was between them. Soon enough, there was nothing between them at all.

Bucky closed his eyes and felt it, the way Steve’s hands mapped out his body like the cartographer he was. He was a landscape for Steve to study. Steve took his time, planned his movements carefully, with no need of advice, and set to work. This was no battle; this was nothing like the war at all.

“Please.” Bucky whispered. Before, he knew what to do, what not to do, where to put his hands and mouth to stir Steve to action. Now, he did not know what to do with this Steve, so insatiable and ready. He appeared as if blown in by a wind of chance and Bucky feared he might disappear in an instant as well.

He remembered their bad nights, back before, when things hadn’t gone according to plan. When, full of shame and quiet discomfort, Steve retreated and drew in upon himself. Bucky would give anything to assure that did not happen again. He wanted to be sure that he kept Steve’s attention—kept him standing to attention—and that Steve got everything he wanted. He clung to Steve, hoping to keep him there. So close, with no space and no clothing between them, it was impossible to ignore Steve’s need or his own.

“Please.” He whispered again, more frantic this time. Steve moved his hips above him and Bucky caught the rhythm. Steve’s cock was long and hard, trapped between them. Bucky threw caution to the wind and reached for it.

Steve let the sound, a long exhalation of pent up longing and pleasure, escape into the crook of Bucky’s neck as Bucky took him up in hand. He was not much different; Bigger all over, but the velvety smooth skin was familiar, the way it had been for as long as they had been doing this in hushed secret and quiet bedrooms. They kissed. It was hard and rough, with as much teeth and tongues as lips, while Bucky’s hand moved up and down. He knew not to stop once they got started.

With his other hand, Bucky found the tin of jelly he kept in easy reach. Perhaps he had been hopeful that a night like this was not far off for them. Perhaps he had been pessimistic and used it on himself in lonely hours. Either way, he thanked himself for the convenience and did not break pace with Steve to grab it from below his mattress, next to his knife, which stayed in place.

“I got it.” Steve said, and took over before Bucky could get his fingers messy.

“You sure?” Bucky asked.

“I got more practice at this than you.” Steve said, and the way he leaned in to say it, so that his breath tickled Bucky’s neck, gave Bucky a thrill he didn’t know to expect.

Yes, Steve did have more practice, from a practical perspective. Bucky remembered watching Steve open himself up during their nights together, when all of this would have been some fantastical dream out of a science fiction novella. Back when. Back before. Those touches that Steve needed to get off the ground made more sense when Bucky was on the receiving end, with Steve running his left hand up and down his thighs, while the fingers of his right hand moved inside of him. Not that Bucky needed help to get himself excited the way Steve used to. They were both more excited than Bucky could ever remember.

Steve touched upon that spot, familiar and good, and crooked his finger in just the way that made Bucky’s vision blur. Bucky leaned up into the touch and tried not to moan. Steve kissed the sound away.

He took his hand off of Steve and brought it to Steve’s wrist instead to hold him still. Their eyes locked.

“C’mon Rogers.” Bucky said.

Steve didn’t need to be told twice.

They had only done it this way a handful of times before in their rattily apartment. It was better now. Steve took charge, as he was growing accustomed to do. Bucky laid back, feeling every inch of Steve, each of his movements.

Steve’s face was not the pained, focused one that he had come to expect during nights such as these, but rather an expression of delight, enraptured and lost in the sensations as much as Bucky. They lost time, lost everything but each other. There was no memory of before or worry about tomorrow, only the moment and the—the—the…

 Bucky felt only warmth as Steve went stiff and then fell against him.

Steve rolled off of Bucky so that they touched at the side, still fitted together and inseparable as always, with arms and legs intertwined.

“Hey Buck.” Steve asked, once Bucky caught his breath.

“Yeah Steve?” he asked.

“Think you could go again?”  


End file.
